


From a Father to His Son

by KingofRedIron



Category: English and Scottish Popular Ballads - Francis James Child, Jack and the Beanstalk (Fairy Tale), Rotkäppchen | Little Red Riding Hood (Fairy Tale), The Twa Sisters (Ballad)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 05:02:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15065708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingofRedIron/pseuds/KingofRedIron





	1. Prologue

Prologue

 

We’re sad, and we’re cold, and the night is black—  
But let’s sit close by the fire.

Oh, Sonny Jim, though the wolves howl,  
Though the weasels chatter,  
Though the owls hoot ,  
Though a troll scratches at the door,  
And then gans awa’...

...I think we’ll be alright.  
I’ve my crossbow, you your penknife,  
And we’ve plenty of food to eat.

So, to pass the time, I’ll tell you some tales.

Strange tales, dark tales,  
Mundane tales, light tales,  
Tales to make you laugh—  
Tales to make you cry!  
Tales to comfort you,  
Tales to frighten you out of your skin.

I speak of giant beanstalks  
And bone violins,  
Of elf-queens  
And elf-kings,  
And many other fancies.

So sit down in my lap,  
My darling son,  
While the night it passeth darkly,  
And listen closely unto me,  
While I tell to you some stories.


	2. Tale I: The Wolf across the way

A little girl in scarlet cloak  
Into the woodland she did walk  
Bread and wine in her basket  
For to give her grandmama.

By an oak-tree ‘cross the way,  
There did a monstrous grey-wolf lay,  
His coat was like the wood-smoke blue,  
His teeth were like dirk-blades.

The wolf he reared up on his back feet  
And he did soon the young girl meet,  
Ravening with hunger fresh  
For to rend the young girl’s flesh.

The wolf he smiled a crooked smile,  
Up to the young girl he did sidle,  
Said he ‘Whither away, O little one?’  
She said ‘To my grandmother’s, sir.’

The wolf he to her closer crept,  
Wi’ the stench of blood upon his breath,  
He said to her, ‘Look down that path,  
Why, that’s a faster way.’

The girl she skipt on down t’ other road,  
Leaping lightly wi’ her load,  
Picking blooms while the birds they chirped,  
Fu’ o’ gaiety.

The wolf he watched her skip away,  
His burning-coal eyes did her survey,  
Hungrier still did he feel,  
Her form was tantalising.

The wolf continued on, without a load,  
Down the beaten, well-trod road,  
A lovely trick now he would play  
To get twa meals at once.

The wolf to the grandmother’s house he went,  
He was now nearly half-spent,  
But he still had enough energy  
To have an early dinner.

The wolf thudded his paw against the door,  
Then out came the girl’s dear grandmother,  
Spake she, ‘Who’s there?’ but she said no more,  
As the wolf he did devour her.

The wolf put on her night dress, and  
On his muzzle her glasses press’d,  
Her nightcap he put on his head,  
But his ears would not stay in it.

The girl soon skipped up to the door,  
Soon she found the thing ajar,  
She tiptoed in most cautiously,  
For she saw seven drops o' blood upon the floor.

Upon the floor the girl she saw  
The track of some fierce beast's paw,  
But she paid no mind to it at all,  
As she thought that it 'Must've been granny's dog'.

The girl she was as dense and thick  
As a sack full of red bricks,  
So she didn’t know that the wolf  
Had scared the dog awa'.

Into the bedchamber the girl she strolled,  
The basket still she did hold,  
She laid the food before her 'granny' dear,  
Who ate it all in a single go.

The 'grandmother' she drained the wine,  
And straightened up her relaxed spine,  
And readied himself did this lupine  
To scoff down some Long Pig.

Spake the child to the false grandmother,  
In fashions more foolish than any other;  
'Granny, what great ears you have!'  
Quoth the wolf in saccharine tones,  
'The better to hear you with, My Dear.'

Spake the child again to the false grandmother,  
Failing spectacularly to see the danger;  
'Granny, what great eyes you have!'  
Quoth the wolf again, throwing back the bedsheets,  
'The better to see you with, My Dear.'

Spake the child once more to the false grandmother,  
Ignoring the tail protruding from the nightdress,  
'Granny, what a great mouth you have!'  
Quoth the wolf, throwing off the nightdress and spectacles,  
Jaws slobbering, champing, a red fleshy pit;  
'The better to eat you with!'

Then leapt the wolf upon the girl,  
In three bites he ate her,  
With ripping teeth and writhing tongue  
He swiftly ate his fill.

First he tore off both her legs  
As she kicked and writhed,  
Then her head and torso  
As she screamed and yelled.  
Then her arms he swallowed, (they were severed when  
Her head and torso were swallowed).

What the wolf didn't get was the cloak,  
Which fell from her shoulders when she entered the house,  
Carnal in colour, as red as blood,  
The colour of life, the colour of death.

By the house there came a woodsman,  
Who delivered firewood to the place.  
He lookt into the cottage well-thatch'd  
Saw the paw-prints, heard the wolf snoring,  
Sharpened his axe and his whittling-knife,  
And ventured in to investigate.

He saw the wolf sprawled out well-gorg'd,  
His tail batting upon the floor  
Sated, sleeping quite soundly  
Rolling over in his sleep. 

The woodsman put together two and two,  
Upon the wolf leapt he now,  
With his axe he severed the wolf's strong tail,  
And with his knife opened his stomach wide.

The grandmother, somewhat bloodstained,  
Dragged herself from the wolf's split paunch,  
She thanked the woodsman, and after her  
Dragged her dismembered granddaughter.

The grandmother took out a ball of yarn,  
And joined to the child's body her arms,  
Likewise she took out a spool of thread,  
And reattached her granddaughter's legs.

The woodsman oped both of the young girl's lids,  
And milk-white were they,  
He lookt sorrowfully on the girl's body  
And proclaimed, 'Sadly, she is dead'.

The woodsman searched in his pocket,  
And pulled out a bottle blue,  
He gave it to the grandmother,  
Said he to her, 'Look you--  
In this bottle there's something called Elicumpane,  
Administer now, and she'll rise again."

The grandmother poured some down her granddaughter's throat,  
And then turned her gaze 'pon the wolf's hollow bloat.

She gathered thousands of rounded stones,  
Each the size of an apple,  
And placed them in the wolf's stomach,  
And with the slit she grappled.

After a bit,  
She swiftly sewed shut the slit,  
And to the woodsman gave a nod.

The woodsman bore the wolf upon his back,  
And into the woods he went again,  
When the wolf awoke and tried to from the river drink,  
He fell o'er the brink and drownéd.

The girl to life again arose,  
And her grandmother she held her close,  
Weeping with joy at the fact  
That her granddaughter was alive once more.

The girl she pulled on again her cloak,  
Through the woods again she walked  
She kept to the path this time,  
And let no wolf waylay her.

So son, be careful then of who you tell,  
Information valuabel,  
For they may turn out just as well  
To be a monstrous butcher.


	3. Tale II: The Thrill of the Chase

There liv’d a maiden in the North,  
As white as any mink,  
And there liv’d a blacksmith in the North,  
As black as any ink.

On Sunday morn, as the church-bells rung out,  
And the Sermon it had ended,  
To his lady’s bow’r the coal-black smith  
Lustfully up and wended.

The maiden lookt out of her window,  
As white as any mink,  
And the smith he lookt in at her window,  
As black as any ink.

The maiden she stood in her doorway—  
As straight as a willow wand,  
And the blacksmith he stood on the threshold,  
Wi’ his hammer in his hand.

The blacksmith bowed and smiled a grin—  
Unto his lady;  
And he soon began t’ speak to her,  
His voice fu’ o’ courtesy.

‘Ah, well ye dress, lady,’ He says;  
‘Fine in yer cloak o’ red,  
Now methinks it’s time,  
On this fine Sunday,  
That I gain yer maidenhead.’

The maiden fair scratched her childhood scars,

And smiled sweetly;  
Soon in tones which were sarcastic.

Out cheekily spake she.

‘ O go away, ye coal-black smith,  
You would do me wrong  
To think you'd gain my maidenhead,  
That I have kept so long!’

Then she held up her clean left hand,  
And she swore by the mould,  
‘I'd never be a blacksmith’s wife  
For all of a chest of gold.  
I’d rather I were dead and gone,  
And my body laid in the grave,  
Ere a rusty stock of a coal-black smith  
My maidenhead should have.’

The blacksmith held up his dirty right hand  
And he swore by the moss,  
'I swear you'll be my lover light  
For the half of that or less.'

O, bide, lady, bide!  
And aye, he bade her bide,  
The rusty smith her lover would be  
For a' her fickle pride.

She became a star,  
A star in the night,  
While he became a thundercloud  
And he hurried her out of sight.

She became a dove,  
To fly up in the air,  
He became another dove  
And they flew pair and pair.

She became a duck,  
To swim upon the stream,  
He became a rose-combed drake  
And he fetched her back again.

O, bide, lady, bide!  
And aye, he bade her bide,  
The coal-black smith her lover would be  
For a' her fickle pride.

She became an eel,  
To swim into yon burn,  
He became a speckled trout  
To give the eel a turn.

She became a frog,  
To leap upon the land,  
He became a green grass snake  
And he kept her close at hand

She became a hare,  
To run upon the hill,  
He became a good greyhound  
And boldly he did fill.

O, bide, lady, bide!  
And aye, he bade her bide,  
The coal-black smith her lover would be  
For a' her fickle pride.

She became a mare  
Which stood in yonder slack,  
He became a gilt saddle  
Which sat upon her back.

She became a hot griddle,  
While he became a cake,  
And a' the ways she turned herself  
The blacksmith was her make.

The lady was nae morose, he held her sae close,  
And still he bade her bide;  
The coal-black smith her lover was,  
For a’ her fickle pride.

She became a plaid  
Which lay stretched upon a bed,  
While he became a green covering  
And gain'd her maidenhead.

The two of them they married soon,  
As grey as crumbled ash,  
And the blacksmith's wife as a wedding present  
Received a chest fu' of shining cash.

So, my son, let me tell you this--  
In the first place,  
There is something truly beautiful  
About the thrill of the chase.


End file.
